Curiosity Killed the Cat
by Alyssa Blackbourn
Summary: A fan of Neal's makes a surprise visit & won't take no for an answer. Neal disappears, & Peter doesn't know what to think; it sure LOOKS like his friend ran. Will Peter realize what happened before it's too late? And what path will Neal ultimately choose?
1. It's My Life

**_Hi, everyone! This is that idea I previewed at the end of Dance with the Devil. I hope you enjoy it, and please, tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!  
>~Erika<em>**

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><p>Neal walked into his apartment with a weary sigh, his mail in one hand, his coat in the other. It was dark outside his window. He was exhausted. He had had a fight with Peter before he left the office. Peter had misplaced his wallet, and for some reason, he got the idea into his head that Neal had taken it. He could be so prejudiced sometimes.<p>

The conman flipped through the stack of mail as he got himself a glass of water and tossed his phone onto the table. Most of it was junk, but one thing stuck out. It was a plain white envelope. Neal's address was written on it in block letters, but there was no return address. Curious, he opened the envelope and took out its contents: a page-long letter.

_Dear Mr. Caffrey,  
>I have to say, it's a great thrill to finally communicate with you. I have followed your work closely. I am quite the fan of yours, to tell you the truth.<em>

As Neal read the letter, he began to feel strange. His fingertips were tingling, and his heart was beginning to race. He took a drink of his water, shrugged it off, and kept reading.

_I think that it's time we meet. We could do so many great things, you and I. You may not see it now, but you will. Soon._

Neal was having trouble catching his breath. He began to see double. His hands were trembling. He knew something was wrong. But he couldn't stop himself from reading on.

_I'll keep this short, since I'm sure that by now, the poison I laced this paper with has begun to soak into your bloodstream. It may have even started to take effect already. Don't worry, Neal, you won't die. You'll just be unconscious for several hours, more than enough time for me to get you out of there. I'm sure you're starting to regret opening this letter. I hope that after we meet you'll change your opinion. But in the mean time, you know what they say..._

Neal's vision swam. He dropped his water. The glass shattered into countless pieces on the floor, and water went everywhere. He saw his cell phone on the table, and went for it. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the table, and snatched up the phone. There was no time to call Peter. Nine. His hand was shaking so badly, he was afraid he'd misdial and waste precious time, time that he was sure he didn't have. One. Suddenly, his legs couldn't seem to support his weight anymore. He fell to the floor, dropping the paper and his phone. He watched helplessly as the phone, his only hope of saving himself, skidded from his grasp and slid under the fridge, out of sight. Seconds later, he was completely unconscious.

_...curiosity killed the cat._

* * *

><p>Peter got the call around two in the morning. Neal Caffrey officially ran. After everything, he ran. He was still trying to make sense of it when he parked his car in front of Neal's house and made his way up to the apartment, where Jones and Diana were waiting for him.<p>

"It doesn't look good, Boss," Diana told him when he came up. "Neal's anklet is on the table. Some of his clothes are missing. There's no sign of a struggle or anything to dispute the statement that Neal ran."

"Neal wouldn't run," Peter said firmly. "Not now. I mean, there was no warning. Nothing that would make me suspect that he was thinking about running."

"Caffrey's an impressive liar, Peter," Jones reminded him. "None of us saw this coming."

Peter sighed, but didn't say anything else. It didn't take them long to finish up their search of the apartment. Neal Caffrey wasn't one to leave a trace when he wanted to disappear.

The next morning, Peter sat in his office, trying to find some kind explanation for what had happened.

"Peter," Diana, with Jones at her side, walked into her boss's office. "We got something. One of Caffrey's aliases bought a one-way plane ticket to Italy last night. Unfortunately, the plane left before we could stop it."

"Well, there you go," Peter grinned. "Neal didn't run. Now, did you have any luck tracing Neal's phone?"

Jones and Diana exchanged glances, confused.

"Yeah, the signal says it's still in his apartment, but we didn't find it the first time through. There's a team there now...Peter, we just told you he _did_ run," Jones told him.

"Neal's not dumb enough to use a name he knows we know about," Peter smiled.

"But he doesn't know we know about this one," Diana told him, handing over the file in her hand.

Peter took it from her and looked at the name on the airline ticket. "Jonathon Adams," he muttered to himself. Then he remembered. "That's the one he used in Spain for like three months, right?" Diana nodded.

Peter sighed. "Neal, what did you do...?"

* * *

><p>When Neal finally came to, his head was aching. His mouth was like cotton. His eyes burned. The consultant sat up and found himself lying on a bed in a decent sized bedroom with an attached bathroom. There was a television on the dresser in front of the bed. In the wardrobe to his right, Neal could see a few of his suits hanging. He had no idea where he was, or how he was going to get home. The conman slid out of bed and went to the door, turning the handle and finding it locked. Next, he tried the window. No luck there either.<p>

Neal jumped when he heard the door open behind him, and whirled around. A man stood in the doorway. He was about six-foot-two, with dark hair and green eyes. Neal guessed his age to be about twenty-six.

"Hello, Neal," the man greeted him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. And sorry about the living arrangements; can't have you running off before we have a chance to reach an understanding."

"Who are you?" Neal demanded. "Where am I? Why am I here?"

"Oh, right, how rude of me," the man chuckled. "My name is Jack. And you, Neal Caffrey, are somewhere the FBI won't find you. Neal, you read my letter. You know what I want. I want you to be free and back to business as usual."

"Really?" Neal sounded skeptical. "Well thanks, but no thanks. I'm happy living the way I am."

"That's the problem, Neal," Jack said earnestly. "They've actually got you believing that."

"No they don't," Neal tried to convince him. "Look, just...let me go home."

"See, that's not an option," Jack informed him.

"Why not?" Neal asked, his skin growing slightly pale. "What did you do?"

"Well let's see..." Jack sighed. "When we left, I took some of your clothes. I put your anklet on the kitchen table. I cleaned up the glass and the water so there was no sign of a struggle. The letter I wrote has been destroyed. And then, to top it all off, I bought a plane ticket to Italy using one of your old aliases—John Adams, you remember him, don't you?—so, sorry, Neal. But they think you ran. There's no turning back."

"You son of a bitch," Neal shouted, stepping forward and shoving the man. Jack stumbled back into the wall by the door. "You've ruined everything! I had a life! I had friends! I was happy!"

Jack, angry and frustrated, pulled a gun from behind his back and aimed it at Neal. The conman instantly fell silent and froze. "There's no need to get violent, Neal," Jack said with an icy calmness. "And for the record, you're wrong."

"Oh am I?" Neal laughed, seeming to find this amusing

"Yes!" Jack said with an exasperated sigh. "Don't you see that? They gave you the illusion of freedom, but you were still in a cage! They had you on a leash with a choke collar. I still don't understand why you didn't run before. I personally put my money on Stockholm Syndrome."

"I was happy where I was," Neal repeated firmly. "Peter was—is—my friend. I don't know what you were hoping to accomplish, here, but it's not going to work. I'm not the same person I was before."

Jack laughed, his gun still aimed steadily at the man before him. "Oh, that's rich," he said between laughs. "Wow, they've really got you wrapped around their finger, don't they? Come on, Neal. Don't lie. You can't honestly say to me...I mean, you can't look me in the eye and say without a shadow of a doubt that you don't miss it."

"Miss what?" Neal pretended to be oblivious, even though he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"The thrill!" Jack said impatiently. "Aw, don't tell me you've gone soft on me, Caffrey. You know what I mean. The thrill, the rush, the...high, for lack of a better word, that comes with the con. No one can just walk away from that and quit cold turkey. It's not possible. Admit it, Caffrey. You're just itching to get back in the game. You're lying to yourself if you think otherwise."

"I don't want to go back to the way I was before," Neal told him. "I am perfectly happy where I am now, pulling FBI sanctioned...and not quite so sanctioned...cons. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home and try to convince Peter that I didn't run, and maybe—just maybe—get my life back while I'm at it."

Neal started for the door. Jack moved to block his path, both hands on his gun, aiming it expertly, like Peter did. He had done this before. The look in the young man's eyes told him that he had not only aimed a gun before, but used one, too. And not for hunting. No, Jack had used a gun on a person before. And the gleam of anticipation in his eyes told him that he had liked it. Neal had to be careful. This guy was a psychopath, and he held all the cards.

"I'm not asking, Neal," Jack said firmly. "I'm not taking no for an answer. I'm not going to let someone as talented as you spend the rest of your life as the FBI's performing monkey. You're better than that. You'll thank me later. I promise."

Neal watched as Jack turned and left the room, leaving the conman alone with his thoughts. He heard the lock click into place, sealing him inside the room. Neal sighed and reached into his suit jacket pocket, pulling out Jack's cell phone. He had seen it in his captor's breast pocket, and when he shoved him, he made sure to lift it off of him. Neal sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the window, his back to the door, and called Peter...

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><p><em>They say curiosity killed the cat. But frankly speaking, aren't we all guilty of that? We all have questions we'd like to have answers to, but cannot find. It may not be to our advantage, but no stone will be left unturned, or left behind. If you're looking for the proper answers, don't veer off course. Just be certain it's coming from the right source. Most importantly, make sure what you're being told is true. Then beyond a doubt, you're going to find out, and all your wondering days will be through! -Audrey Heller<em>


	2. Surgeon

_**Wow, guys, thanks for the overwhelming response! This is a lot more popular than I thought it would be. Thank you guys so much! Keep the reviews coming, and I promise I'll keep the chapters coming. Thanks for reading!  
>~Erika<strong>_

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><p>Peter sat in his office, alone, looking through all the evidence they had on Neal's disappearance. Diana was right. It didn't look good. Every piece of evidence they had said that Neal ran. Peter didn't <em>want<em> to believe it, but, slowly but surely, the evidence was starting to change his mind.

Peter sighed, tired and confused as to why Neal would just take off like he did. The agent's ringing cell phone interrupted his thoughts, and he scooped up the device from beside him. The FBI man glanced at the caller ID. He didn't recognize the number, but he answered anyway.

"Agent Burke."

"Peter," Neal was the last person Peter expected to hear on the other end of the line. "Thank God. I was afraid you wouldn't answer."

"Neal," the agent didn't bother to hide his shock. Then his voice became cold. "Call to say goodbye? Maybe give me some kind of an explanation? Because, trust me, I'm all ears."

"No, Peter, no," Neal sounded hurt, his voice soft. "You don't really think I ran, do you? Peter, you know me."

"Yeah, I thought I did," Peter chuckled, already sending an e-mail to Jones out in the bullpen to start a trace on the call. "How's Italy, Neal? I hear it's beautiful this time of year."

"I'm not _in_ Italy, Peter," Neal hissed urgently.

"Yeah, sure, of course you're not," Peter rolled his eyes. Then he noticed something. "Wait, why are you whispering?"

"So the guy who brought me here doesn't hear me and come back," Neal replied quietly.

"Where exactly is 'here', Neal?" Peter asked, interested, some little part of him starting to gloat to the rest of him that he was right all along, and Neal really didn't run. Then the rest of him told that part to shut up, because the alternative to Neal running was much, much worse.

"I don't know, Peter," Neal sighed helplessly. "I have no clue."

"Ok, just tell me what happened," Peter ordered.

"I came home last night after our fight," Neal told him. "I was looking through my mail. There was a letter...it didn't have a return address. I was curious, so I opened it anyway. The guy laced the paper with something that knocked me out. Then I woke up here about five or ten minutes ago."

"Do you know what this guy wants?" Peter asked his friend.

"Yeah," Neal sighed. "He wants me to be the way I was before you caught me and I started working for the FBI. Listen to me, Peter, you have to get me out of here. This guy is a psychopath, he has a gun, and he won't hesitate to use it if it comes down to it."

"How do you know?" Peter pressed, alarmed.

"I saw it in his eyes, Peter," Neal told him. "He was just itching to pull the trigger."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Jack...or, at least, that's how he introduced himself to me. Whether that's his real name or not, I don't know. Anyway, he's about six-two, dark hair, green eyes, twenty-five, twenty-six years old. That's all I know."

"Neal," Neal jumped and quickly got to his feet, turning around, when he heard someone say his name. He froze, pulling the phone away from his ear and putting his hands up by his head, when he saw Jack aiming his gun at him. "Neal, I'm disappointed." Even though it was obvious that Jack was angry, a smile tugged on his lips. He was enjoying himself.

"Look, I..." Neal didn't have an explanation to give his captor. Through the phone, Neal heard Peter demanding to know what was happening.

"It's a shame, to be honest," Jack continued, his eyes almost pitying. Almost. "I really, truly thought you could be saved, Neal. I did."

"Please," now Neal was scared. He knew from the look in his eyes what Jack was planning. And he also knew that he was looking forward to it.

"Can't talk your way out of this one," Jack laughed. "Bye, Neal." Before the conman could respond, Jack pulled the trigger...

* * *

><p>Peter heard the shot ring out. It seemed louder than normal through the phone, and caused the FBI man to jump and almost drop his phone. By the time Peter recovered, the line was dead.<p>

Peter hung up from his end quickly left his office, moving out onto the landing above the bullpen. "Jones," he said, getting his fellow agent's attention as he scribbled something down on a sheet of paper. "Did you get an address?"

"Yeah," Jones confirmed, holding up the paper.

"Great," Peter nodded, starting down the stairs. "Diana, come on. And call for backup."

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><p>Peter looked around the bedroom, his expression grim. By the time they arrived, the house was empty. The carpet by the bed was stained red. There was so much blood...Peter couldn't look at it for long. The only thing Peter managed to hold on to was the fact that the house was completely empty; they didn't find Neal either.<p>

However, as much as he didn't want to, he had to take note that there was a _lot_ of blood on the floor. Almost too much for them to even hope that Neal was still alive. The bullet must have nicked one of Neal's arteries. Peter didn't want to think about what that meant as far as his friend's chances for survival. Until he had solid proof to the contrary, Neal was alive. And they had to find him. Fast.

"Peter," Diana's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "We're going to find him."

"Yeah, but the question is, will it be too late?" Peter sighed.

Diana didn't have a response. There was a pause. "Look, I talked to the coroner," Diana told him.

"And?" Peter asked hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to hear the doc's verdict on the volume of blood that had soaked into the carpeting.

"He said that, provided they got the bleeding under control before he lost too much more blood and Neal was in good health when he was shot, then based on his height and weight, Neal did not lose enough blood to die," Diana explained. Peter let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"But he also said that if Neal doesn't see a doctor soon, he could die anyway," Diana's words crushed Peter's good mood. "He lost about twenty percent of his blood volume, Peter. He would have had to completely sever an artery to cause that much blood loss in such a short amount of time. Besides the obvious, there're also infections that we have to worry about. Look, by now it's safe to assume that he didn't run, so where does that leave us? What do we do now?"

Peter stared at her for a moment. When he spoke, he spoke as if the answer were the easiest, most obvious thing in the world. "Now, we find Jack."

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><p>"I don't care, Anna!" Neal heard Jack yelling, but it was strange. The sound was coming from all around him, and it echoed, as if Jack was far away and they were standing in a cave or something.<p>

"Jack, he _needs_ to go to the hospital," a girl's voice insisted. "There's no arguing about it. There's nothing more I can do for him. He needs a surgeon, which I am not. I had to clamp off the artery entirely. If you don't bring him to a hospital, he could lose his arm."

"You can't let that happen," Jack growled.

"It's out of my hands, now, Jack," the girl, Anna, said firmly. "I'm not a surgeon. Now whether he lives or dies is up to you."

"You're a doctor," Jack spat. "Fix him!"

"Jack I am fresh out of med school!" Anna hissed. "I haven't started to specialize yet!"

"That's not my problem," Jack growled. "Figure it out."

"I've never been afraid of you, Jack," Anna said calmly. "Even when we were kids, you scared everybody except me. That's not going to change. You can't use fear to make me do this for you. I don't want to help you with this. I mean, for God's sake, you kidnapped him! Don't you have any sort of a conscience...what am I talking about? Of course you don't. You never did."

"So you know I won't feel bad about killing you if you don't help me," Jack shot back.

"Jack," Anna pleaded.

"Just do it, Anna!" Jack ordered.

Neal heard the girl sigh, and then footsteps began to echo in his ears, coming closer. After a moment, he heard someone pick up a set of keys.

"Where are you going?" Jack demanded.

"I told you, Jack, I'm not a surgeon," Anna said. "I'm barely a doctor. If you want my help, you're going to have to let me go get someone who actually knows what they're doing."

There was a pause. Jack must have nodded or something, because soon Anna spoke again.

"Thank you," under the irritation, Neal heard a note of fear. She put on a brave face, but she was still scared.

Neal must have passed out again, because the next thing he knew, there was a new voice.

"Uh, Anna," a man's voice said with a nervous laugh. "Where are we?" There was a pause. "Anna?"

"I'm sorry, Justin," Anna said sadly.

"Hello, Justin," Neal recognized Jack's voice. The conman tried to force his eyes open, but he was too exhausted.

"Anna, what's going on?" the other man, Justin, demanded. Finally, Neal pried his eyes open, if only just a little, and saw Jack and the girl, Anna, through the door in front of him. Anna was about twenty-four or twenty-five, with long brown hair and green eyes that almost perfectly matched Jack's. Jack himself had his gun drawn and was aiming it at someone Neal couldn't see, presumably this Justin person.

"Jack, put that away!" Anna ordered. It had no affect on the man.

"He's a surgeon?" Jack asked. Anna nodded, her expression stressed.

"Anna, please," the man out of sight begged.

"Jack, stop! You don't have to do this," Anna said sincerely. "He'll do it without you threatening him."

"Yeah, 'cause I totally believe you, sis," Jack laughed.

"See, Jack, unlike you, Justin isn't a sociopath; he can actually feel empathy and if he can help someone, he will," Anna snapped. "So back off."

Jack hesitated, then slowly lowered his gun. Anna relaxed a little, but not much.

"Do what?" Justin asked, his voice shaking.

"Justin..." Anna sighed helplessly. "I'm so sorry...Look, we just need you to help him," she gestured to Neal.

Justin leaned around the doorframe and looked in at Neal. Without hesitation, he strode into the room and dropped to one knee by the conman's side, trying to get a closer look at his wounded shoulder. He pulled back the bloody shirt fragments. Neal groaned in pain.

"Neal," Jack smiled. "You're awake."

"What happened?" Justin asked.

"He happened," Anna muttered, nodding toward her brother.

"He pissed me off," Jack shrugged, "so I shot him."

"Do you have anything I could use to actually fix him up?" Justin asked.

"I think I have everything you need," Anna assured him.

"Great," Justin sighed. "Let's get started and see if we can't save that arm."


	3. Family

_**Thanks for all your words of encouragement, everyone! I really appreciate it. And good news for all of us! I got an A on my math quiz yesterday, and can therefore continue to use the computer! Yay! Lol, well I hope you guys will review as often as you did last chapter. Please enjoy!  
>~Erika<strong>_

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><p>"Peter," Peter looked up from the files spread out on the table top in the conference room. Diana walked toward him, holding yet another file. "We finally figured out who owned that house Jack took Neal to. You should see this." Peter took the file from her as she continued, "The house belongs to Anna Flyte. She's twenty-four years old. She graduated med school at the top of her class. She's a trust fund kid. She has no criminal record, she pays her taxes on time, she works at St. Mary's hospital...She's a model citizen. But here's the good part. Check out her brother."<p>

Peter turned the page to look at the photograph of Anna Flyte's brother. He raised his eyebrows. "Jack Flyte. Six-two, dark hair, green eyes, twenty-six years old. He is a perfect match for the description Neal gave us."

"Yeah, and guess who was left out of the will when their parents died."

"Jack?"

"You got it, boss. Anna walked away will millions in inheritance, but Jack got nothing."

"Ok, so what are we thinking on the girl? Is she part of Neal's kidnapping by choice, or by force, if at all?"

"There's one way to find out," Diana told him. "Her next shift starts in thirty minutes."

"Let's go," Peter nodded, happy to finally have a lead...

* * *

><p>"Alright, that should do it," Justin sighed as he stitched Neal's wound closed. The conman was unconscious, and Justin had successfully restored blood flow to his right arm.<p>

"Great," Jack smiled. "Thanks for your help, Doc." As soon as he finished speaking, he took aim at Justin's head with his gun.

"Stop it!" Anna shouted. She moved in front of Justin, blocking her brother's shot.

"Anna, get out of the way," Jack growled.

"I'm not letting you kill him, Jack," Anna said resolutely.

"I can't leave any witnesses, Anna," Jack snapped. "The fact that I'm letting you continue breathing is unnerving enough. I'm not leaving him around, too."

"Jack, I'm only going to say this once," Anna told him, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. "If you kill Justin, then you're gonna have to kill me, and if you kill me, then what are you going to do the next time Neal does something you don't like and you end up hurting him? And don't try and say that that won't happen. We both know you have a short temper. And we both know that Neal is not going to just go quietly and do whatever you tell him to."

Jack hesitated, then slowly lowered his gun. Anna let out a shaky sigh of relief. Then she reached out and grabbed her keys from the table.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jack asked.

"I have to get to the hospital," Anna told him. "My next shift is in twenty minutes. If I miss it, people are gonna know something's up. I haven't missed a shift in two years since I started working at the hospital. Actually, you should let Justin go, too. He's been there longer than I have, and unless I'm wrong, he's never missed a shift either. Right, Justin?"

"Uh...yeah..." Justin confirmed, eyeing Jack nervously. "Never in seven years."

"No. Justin's not going anywhere," Jack said firmly. "You can go, Anna, but your little friend stays with me. If you tell the cops anything, and they come here, he will be the first to die. Got it?"

Anna hesitated. She knew her brother better than anyone, and she knew any further protest would be a bad idea. Finally, she nodded, glanced back at Justin apologetically, and headed out the door...

* * *

><p>Anna made her way into the hospital, way late for her shift, her mind in complete tunnel vision, just wanting to finish her shift and get back before her brother did something stupid. Some part of her actually hoped she would be later; if she was late enough, the hospital gave her shift away to someone else. If that happened, she could go back and make sure Justin and Neal stayed safe. The only reason she had suggested going to take her shift at the hospital was so that maybe Justin would be the one to get out, and maybe he could get help. She should have known Jack wouldn't take that risk. He was cruel and more than likely was not capable of feeling any sort of guilt, but he wasn't stupid.<p>

"Anna Flyte?" a voice made the young doctor stop and look around. She spotted two people in suits, a man and a woman, approaching her.

"Yes," Anna confirmed her identity. "Can I help you?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI," The man held up a badge, identifying himself. "This is Special Agent Diana Berrigan. We need to ask you a few questions."

"Ah, ok," Anna agreed, stepping off to the side so she wouldn't be in the way. "What about?"

"Where were you this morning between two and eleven AM?" Peter asked.

"Wow, um...let's see...I got off the graveyard shift in the ER at about three in the morning, then I met up with a friend of mine. He lives close by, and I didn't want to drive home, so he offered to let me crash on his couch. I headed back here from there. Why?"

"Someone was shot in your home this morning," Diana told her.

"Oh my God," Anna hoped she sounded as shocked as she was trying to look. She couldn't stop thinking about Justin. "What happened?"

"We were hoping you could help us figure that out," Peter sighed. "Can anyone else get into your house? Does anyone else have a key? Your brother, maybe?"

"My brother is..." Anna trailed off. "We haven't spoken since our parents died."

"But does he have a key?" Peter pressed.

"No," Anna shook her head. "My brother...he's...he has issues. My parents knew it. I know it. Everyone knew it. He once almost killed the neighbor's cat because it got out of the house and was meowing really loudly at its door trying to get back in. He would have killed it if I hadn't seen him and stopped him. Poor Mittens never took a step out of his house ever again."

"Do you have any idea where he would go?" Diana asked.

"No, I'm sorry," Anna said helplessly.

"Look, your brother may have taken a friend of mine," Peter explained. "If you can think of anything that might help us find him, I would really appreciate it."

Anna hesitated. Guilt clawed at her heart. But she kept her mouth shut. Her brother liked hurting people. She didn't want to give him an excuse.

"Look, I'm really sorry," Anna said again. "But like I said, my brother and I haven't talked in over two years. I wish I could help, I really do, but I don't know where he is. And to be honest, if I never see him again, it will be too soon."

"Why's that?" Peter asked, intrigued.

"Listen, I tried to make it work with my brother. I tried to overlook his...quirks. I tried to be there for him, to help him. But he always had a habit of ruining everything for me. My social life, my school life..." Anna glanced at her watch and let out a sigh that she hoped sounded annoyed, "and now my shift. Because he's a sociopath, you came here to talk to me, and because I was late to begin with, I just lost my shift. He just can't help himself..." Anna turned and started back in the direction she came, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

Peter watched the girl go, then turned to Diana.

"She's hiding something."

* * *

><p>Neal opened his eyes and groaned at the sudden rush of light. He shifted on the cot he rested on, drawing a sharp breath at the burning in his shoulder.<p>

"Hey," Neal turned his head to look at Justin as the doctor crossed the room to his side. "How're you feeling?"

"Wonderful," Neal muttered, wincing in pain, his voice weak and scratchy.

Justin chuckled. "I mean besides the shoulder," he clarified.

"Fine, I guess," Neal muttered.

"What's your name?" Justin asked.

"Neal Caffrey," the conman introduced himself, extending his uninjured left hand.

"Justin Wolfe," Justin smiled, reaching out and shaking the wounded man's hand.

"Thanks for fixing me up," Neal said sincerely.

"Well, I couldn't just let you die like that," Justin shrugged.

"Hey..." Neal dropped his voice, glancing at the door. "You wouldn't happen to have a cell phone, would you?"

Justin smiled sadly and shook his head. "Jack took it from me right after I put you under," the surgeon told him. Neal sighed wearily.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

Just then, the two captives heard a door open and bang shut. They turned toward the closed door of their little room and listened.

"Anna," Neal and Justin listened as Jack's voice, a twinge of suspicion evident, spoke his sister's name. "What are you doing back?"

"I was late," Anna sounded bitter. "The hospital gave my shift away."

"Oh, that's too bad," while the words would suggest that he actually felt sorry for making his sister lose her shift, his tone suggested the opposite.

"You know, you can really be an ass sometimes," Anna snapped, irritated.

"Calm down, Kiddo," Jack said with a mocking chuckle as a cell phone rang. After a moment, Neal and Justin heard Jack answer the phone.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice still laughing. There was a long pause. "Wait, what?" in an instant, Jack's tone became serious and tense. "Thanks."

Jack hung up the phone and turned to his sister, his eyes full of anger. "You stupid bitch," he growled. Anna didn't have time to respond before her brother grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room where Neal and Justin sat. He pushed her inside.

"Both of you," Jack snapped, looking at Justin and Anna. "Grab him and go out the back. Put him in the car. I'll meet you out there in a minute." The two doctors just stared at him in shock. "That wasn't a suggestion!" Jack shouted. "Now move!"

Justin and Anna jumped, then turned to Neal. Each of them grabbed one of the conman's arms and pulled him to his feet. Neal cried out in pain, but allowed Justin to take most of his weight and help him stumble through the door. Anna guided them to the back door, then pulled it open. As promised, there was a car waiting there in the alley. It was unlocked, and Anna quickly pulled the door open.

"Here, give him to me," Anna ordered, holding an arm out to support the injured Neal's weight. Justin hesitated, then handed his patient over. "Good, now run."

"What?" Justin was shocked.

"Justin, _run!_" Anna commanded. "If you don't, my brother is going to kill you. I don't want anything to happen to you, ok? So go!"

"I can't leave you alone with him," Justin protested.

"He's not going to kill me," Anna assured him. "He's my brother; I know him. I'll be fine, I promise. Just go!"

Justin hesitated, glancing at the back door and then at Anna and Neal. Finally, he started down the alley, headed for the street. Before long, he turned the corner and vanished from sight.

Seconds later, just after Anna managed to help Neal into the back seat of the car, Jack came into view, gun in hand. When he saw that Justin was missing, he stiffened.

"What the hell did you do?" Jack growled.

"I wasn't going to let him die, Jack," Anna said coolly. "He's my friend."

Jack let out an angry sigh, his eyes full of rage. Then, out of nowhere, he brought the gun across his body and whacked his sister, hard, across the head with it. Anna cried out, falling and catching herself on the edge of the car. Neal looked on in horror, helpless to stop Jack from hurting Anna. Before she could steady herself, Jack grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back so she had to look at him. Her forehead was bleeding from the gash he had created. For the first time in their lives, Jack saw genuine fear—fear that _he_ had caused her to feel—in her eyes. The sight made his heart rate pick up and a smile to bloom on his face, despite his rage.

"I've been tolerant with you because we're family, Kiddo," Jack hissed, his voice just above a whisper and sending chills down Anna's spine. Jack moved close to his sister's ear and whispered, "That ends now."

Jack threw Anna forward into the back seat of the SUV. Once she was inside, he slammed the door behind her, climbed into the driver's seat, turned the key in the ignition, and peeled out of the alley before blending into New York traffic...


	4. Moving On

_**I'm so glad you guys like this story so much. Please enjoy this chapter, and as long as the reviews continue to come, so will the chapters! Thanks so much for reading!  
>~Erika<strong>_

* * *

><p>Peter and Diana parked down the street and watched as Anna parked her car in the parking lot of an abandoned factory that they had followed her to after she left the hospital. The young doctor hesitated before getting out of the car and heading inside.<p>

"Alright, backup's on the way, Boss," Diana told Peter, hanging up the phone in her hand.

"How long?" Peter asked, examining the building.

"Five minutes," Diana replied.

"Ok..." Peter sighed. "We should wait until they get here. We don't know what we could find in there."

Diana nodded. There was a pause, and then the two agents saw a man jogging out of the alley behind the building. It wasn't Jack, and it wasn't Neal.

Peter and Diana exchanged glances, then got out of the car, blocking the man's path as he advanced down the street.

"Hey," Peter said, his hand on his gun, "you ok, buddy?"

The man hesitated, looking scared, but then he spotted Peter's badge on his belt, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," he said, sounding stressed. "Look, there's this psycho in the alley back there! He kidnapped this guy and a girl I work with and...and me! Please, you gotta stop him before gets away!"

"Alright, Diana, stay with him," Peter ordered, running down the street back towards the alley, drawing his gun as their backup's sirens moved closer.

"Peter!" Diana called after him in protest.

"Diana, stay with him!" Peter shouted over his shoulder. He got to the alley and raised his gun...but nothing was there. The alley was empty. He was too late.

Peter slowly lowered his gun with a sigh. "Damn it."

* * *

><p>Jack glanced around the street as he guided his sister and Neal into the abandoned apartment building he had chosen to be his next hideout. The coast was clear, and he hurried to get everyone inside. He brought the two captives to a room on the first floor, room number one-forty-seven. Once inside, he moved to a small bedroom in the back of the apartment, and forced Neal and Anna inside.<p>

"You two get comfy," Jack ordered. "We're going to be here for a while."

Neal and Anna stayed quiet as Jack closed the door and locked them inside.

Neal immediately turned to Anna, who was shakily lowering herself into one of the room's two chairs; the bedroom looked like the previous owners simply picked up and left. The furniture was all still there. There was a desk, two chairs, a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand.

"Hey, are you ok?" Neal asked, concerned. "Let me see your head."

Anna tilted her head back to let Neal get a better look at the cut on her head.

"Ok, it's not too deep," Neal assured her. "You should be fine."

"Good..." Anna nodded, her voice soft and her eyes distant.

Neal sighed. "Listen, we're going to be fine, ok? I promise," the conman assured her. "I'm sure they're going to find us soon."

"Yeah, but probably not soon enough," Anna sighed.

"That's not a very positive way of looking at things," Neal scolded jokingly, trying to make her smile. It didn't work.

"I've known him all my life, Neal," Anna told him, staring down at the ground. "I have been terrified of him all my life. But I knew that if I showed him that I was scared of him, it would just make it worse. So I have been hiding it from him all these years. But now that's over, so I don't know what he's going to do."

"Look, Anna," Neal sighed. "Just as long as we stay out of his way, I think we're both going to make it out of this ok."

"Somehow I doubt that," Anna shook her head. "You, maybe, but me?"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you, ok?" Neal promised. "We're both going to get out of here alive."

"I hope you're right," Anna shrugged. She didn't sound too optimistic. Neal sighed and sat down on the bed, letting his eyes go out of focus...

* * *

><p>"It's all clear, Peter," Diana told him as the two of them, as well as Jones, stood in the middle of the main factory area.<p>

"There's no sign of where Jack went," Jones added.

Peter looked to his left, into the room where Anna, Neal, and Justin had been held. The cot was stained with blood. There were two pairs of bloody latex gloves were in the corner, and bloody surgical tools were discovered in a bag outside the room. The sight made him frown.

"According to the doc," Jones sighed, nodding toward where Justin was talking to another agent, "the bullet almost completely severed Neal's artery. Anna couldn't fix Neal fully, so her brother made her go get him and make him perform surgery on Neal's shoulder. He said that Neal should be fine with the work he had done on the artery, so there's that."

"We have to find him," Peter sighed. "Fast."

"We know, Peter," Diana sighed. "But, to be honest, this guy didn't leave a trace. We have no idea where he's going."

"I don't care," Peter seemed angry. "I'm not going to let Neal stay with that guy. I owe it to him to find him."

* * *

><p><em>One month later...<em>

* * *

><p>Peter sat at his desk, looking over the file on his latest case, his face set in an eternal frown, as it had been since Hughes sat him down and told him that until they had a new lead on Neal's case, he had to start working on other cases. Every moment he spent not looking for his friend felt like a betrayal. He felt terrible that he had begun to move on, but he had no choice. Until they had more evidence, Neal was on his own...<p>

* * *

><p>Neal glanced around furtively, his heart pounding, his face hot under the ski mask he wore. The consultant picked up the pen that rested on the counter by the phone and quickly scribbled something down on the message pad. He had just finished writing his message and grabbing a priceless figurine from a glass case whose lock he had just picked when another person, also wearing a ski mask, appeared by his side and motioned for him to follow. Neal crept after him, and the two thieves managed to get out of the house undetected...<p>

* * *

><p>When Neal and Jack arrived back at the apartment, Jack looked excited, like a kid on Christmas. As Neal was escorted back into his room, where Anna sat in the far corner, Jack looked at him with a grin.<p>

"Oh, come on, Neal," he said with a sigh. "You can't tell me that didn't get your blood flowing. You can't tell me you didn't miss that."

"I told you before, Jack," Neal said with a shrug. "I don't want to have this life anymore. I was happy where I was." The words were true, but Jack wasn't wrong. Neal _had_ missed the rush that came with taking something that wasn't necessarily yours. He felt the same need to feel that rush that junkies felt towards their drug of choice. Sure, what they had done was pretty petty stuff, and not nearly the caliber he was used to, but it still gave him a taste of his of his old life.

Jack sighed and shook his head. "You'll come around," he sounded confident. "Sooner or later, you'll realize what you've been missing out on."

"I doubt it," Neal hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. Jack laughed slightly, then left Neal alone with Anna, locking the two inside.

Once they were alone, Neal turned to Anna and smiled.

"Get ready to get out of here."

* * *

><p>Peter, Jones, and Diana examined the scene of the robbery they had just been assigned. The thief or thieves got away with three priceless figurines, two incredibly expensive paintings, and a Chinese vase from the Tang dynasty. They had gotten in without tripping the amazing security system, and left no trace of their existence.<p>

Peter examined the living room, where the display case where the figurines were housed resided. His heart wasn't really in the task at hand. His thoughts were elsewhere. But that didn't stop something from catching his eye.

The FBI man walked over to the phone that rested beside the couch and picked up the message pad beside it. There was a message scrawled across it. It seemed like nothing, just initials and numbers, but something about it made him look a little closer.

_P.B.—  
><em>_226-3278_

_D.B.—  
><em>_378-7433_

_C.J.—  
><em>_420-8697_

_~J.B.  
>147<em>

Maybe his brain was just so desperate to find Neal that he was finding connections to the case where there weren't any, but maybe...

P.B. — Peter Burke.  
>D.B. — Diana Berrigan.<br>C.J. — Clinton Jones.  
>J.B. — James Bonds. Neal Caffrey. He was alive.<p>

It was a little bit of a stretch, Peter had to admit, but...it couldn't hurt to just check it out and see where it took him.

Peter smiled to himself. He may just find his friend after all.


	5. Confidential Informant

_**Hey, everyone! I'm sorry this took so long. I think this is going to end up being one of my shorter stories...I don't know, I might go back later and elaborate a little bit, but for now, I think I'm nearing the end. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews. I promise, if you guys all keep reviewing, I will keep posting. Thanks for reading!  
>~Erika<strong>_

* * *

><p>Peter didn't need a lot of time to decipher the code Neal had left him. It was the same code they'd used when he was kidnapped by Keller.<p>

The message translated to 'abnd apt', 'est side', and 'H2O towr'; or, in layman's terms, 'abandoned apartment', 'east side', 'water tower'. The '147' was presumably an apartment number. Sure helped narrow the search. In fact, there was only one building that fit that description: abandoned on the east side with a water tower on the roof.

"Hey, Samson!" Peter called into the bullpen as he headed down the stairs. One of the agents looked up from their computer screens. "Can you do me a favor and get in touch with Diana and Jones and tell them to meet me at this address?" Peter handed the young agent a sheet of paper with the address of the apartment building scrawled on it. "And send me some backup, too, will ya?"

"You got it, Peter," Agent Samson agreed. Peter called the elevator, itching to get a move on...

* * *

><p>"Guys," Jack said when he burst into the room where Neal and Anna were staying. "Come on, time to go."<p>

"What?" Neal was hesitant. "Why?"

"Because I say so, now come on!" Jack snapped, impatient.

Neal and Anna exchanged glances, then stood up and headed out the door. Neal got out first, and Anna was just about to follow when Jack blocked her path.

"Oh, and Anna," he smiled. "One more thing..."

Neither hostage was expecting the gunshot that followed. Anna's eyes widened, and she stepped back, falling to the floor, a deep red spot appearing in the middle of her shirt.

"No!" Neal shouted, trying to run to her side. Jack stopped him.

"Don't, Neal," Jack growled.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Neal snapped, still trying to get past him to try and help Anna. Blood gushed from the hole in her chest, and bubbled out of her mouth as she struggled to breathe.

"Lots of things," Jack smiled. "But unless you want to join her, Neal, I suggest you back off!"

Neal hesitated, then reluctantly stepped back. Jack grinned victoriously, then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and walked over to his sister. Neal watched as he bent over and stuffed the paper into his dying sister's hand, then stood up and made his way back to Neal. The murderer grabbed the consultant's arm and pulled him out the door. Neal struggled, wanting desperately to go back to Anna, but Jack's grip was strong. His captor managed to drag him out the door and back into the car. Minutes later, Neal and Jack were gone without a trace...

* * *

><p>Peter, Jones, and Diana all arrived at the apartment at about the same time. Their backup was still on the way, but they didn't think they could wait. They made their way inside and to apartment number one-forty-seven, and, on the count of three, Peter kicked the door open.<p>

"FBI!" Diana shouted as they went in. The apartment was empty except for...

There was blood seeping out of the bedroom. The agents couldn't see who the source of the blood was, but Peter almost didn't want to find out.

"It's Anna," Diana said as she moved into the bedroom and dropped down beside her. She pressed two fingers into the young doctor's neck, trying to find a pulse. None of them thought it was even worth it to try. Diana's eyes widened in shock. "She's got a pulse," she said unexpectedly, putting her gun down and beginning chest compressions to hopefully keep the statement true.

Peter looked on in utter amazement. It was then that he spotted the paper in Anna's bloody hand. Peter's eyes narrowed, and he titled is head in interest. He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and bent down, opening the girl's hand and taking out the paper. It was folded twice, and stained with blood. Careful not to touch the paper itself, Peter unfolded the sheet and read what was written across it.

"Peter, what is it?" Jones asked.

Peter's face was stony as he turned the paper so Jones could read it.

_Stop looking, or else Neal will end up like her._

* * *

><p>Jack and Neal, having ditched their car a while back, walked down the streets of New York, their heads down, trying not to get noticed. They wove through the crowds of people quickly and quietly. Neal spotted a couple of cops up ahead, and contemplated an attempt to get help.<p>

As if reading the conman's mind, Jack grabbed Neal's still-healing shoulder and squeezed. Neal grunted in pain and slowed his walk a little bit while still forcing himself onward. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.

"Don't even think about it, Neal," Jack hissed. After a moment, he let go, and Neal let out a ragged breath, resuming a normal walking speed.

Ahead of them, the two men saw a businessman step out of his car and lock it behind him, then place the keys in his jacket pocket.

"Quick, Neal," Jack whispered. "Pick his pocket and get his keys."

Neal wanted to say no, but they were too close, and what came next was an instinct he had been suppressing for quite awhile. As they approached the businessman, Neal bumped his shoulder, gently enough not to get more than a dirty look, but hard enough to provide a distraction for when he reached two fingers into the man's pocket and lifted his keys off of him. The action was as natural as breathing, and it felt good. It felt right. It gave him another tiny taste of what his old life had given him. Still, it wasn't anything at all like he was used to, but all the same, he could feel himself slipping, like a junkie starting to give in to his addiction.

Neal and Jack regrouped a little farther down the sidewalk, and Neal handed over the keys. Jack smirked knowingly at the conman, and Neal looked away, feeling a pang of guilt in his heart, as if he were betraying Peter by finding joy and pleasure in his formerly common, everyday activities. The two men casually walked to the car as Jack unlocked it, and then got inside. Seconds later, they were on the road again.

"Why the long face, Neal?" Jack asked after a few moments of silence. "You're getting back to what you love. You should be happy."

"You just murdered your sister in cold blood," Neal muttered, not looking at him. "Excuse me if I'm not jumping up and down in excitement right now."

Jack sighed. "Well, look, I've got an idea that will work out for both of us," the killer told him. "I managed to get my hands on a passport for each of us, and I'm thinking we go to Spain. You can get back to doing what you love, what you're good at, and we can both avoid Peter tracking us down. Come on, man. I saw you back there; you were just doing what came naturally to you. You've been stuck in a cage for so long that you forgot what that was like. And I know you've missed that feeling. I could see it on your face. You can't lie to me about that."

In the passenger seat, Neal was silent.

"So, what's it going to be, Neal?" Jack asked with a sigh, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a passport. He flipped it open to check the name, then held it out to him. "Are you going to continue to be my captive, or are you going to start being my partner?"

Neal hesitated, seriously considering the offer. Sure, Jack was a violent sociopath who could turn on him at any moment, but...hey, once they were in Spain...he _could_ slip away from him, get in touch with Mozzie, have him meet him somewhere...he could start over. He could start doing what he loved again. He could just go. The FBI would move on. Peter would move on. He loved what he was doing with the FBI, but he couldn't give up his old life yet. There was still so much he hadn't done...

With a hesitant sigh, Neal reached over and grabbed the passport.

Jack laughed victoriously. "Welcome aboard, Caffrey," he said with a grin. Neal forced a half-smile, but stared down at the passport, second-guessing his decision already. After a moment or two, the conman tucked the passport into his inside jacket pocket. His mind was made up.

* * *

><p><em>One hour earlier...<em>

* * *

><p>Agent Kyle Samson glanced around, making sure no one was watching, then slipped into the hallway. He pulled out his cell phone, and quickly dialed a number that he would delete from his call history as soon as the call was over.<p>

"Hello?" came the voice he knew belonged to Jack Flyte.

"Dude, you gotta get out of there. Peter figured out where you are," Kyle hissed. "You gotta go now! He's only about twenty minutes away!"

"Alright, thanks for the heads up," Jack thanked his informant and hung up, as did Kyle. After deleting his call history, he made his way back into the bullpen, taking a seat at his desk. Doing a quick, casual look around him, he continued working as if nothing had happened...


	6. The Scorpion and the Frog

_**If you're reading this, it means the next chapter of my story is just around the corner. This is just a fable I thought fit this story pretty well. I'm excited for you guys to see what happens next, and I'm SO sorry this has been taking so long. Thanks for being patient, and, as always, thanks for reading!  
>~Erika<strong>_

* * *

><p>One day, a scorpion and a frog met on the bank of a stream. The scorpion asked the frog to carry him across on its back because the scorpion couldn't swim.<p>

The frog asked, "How do I know you won't sting me?"

The scorpion replied, "Because if I do, I will die too."

The frog was satisfied, and they set out, but in midstream, the scorpion stung the frog. The frog felt the onset of paralysis and started to sink, and said to the scorpion, "Why would you do that? Now we're both going to die!"

The scorpion replied: "I can't help it. I'm a scorpion. It's my nature..."


	7. Life Support

_**Hey, everyone! Sorry again that this is taking so long. I'm redoing my room, I'm drowning in homework, and at the same time I'm struggling to maintain my A (because it has never been an A before) in math. Oh, and I have college mail coming out of the woodwork. But I will try and keep writing fast enough for all of you! Don't give up on me! Reviews fuel the fire, so keep that in mind. Thanks so much for reading!  
>~Erika<strong>_

* * *

><p>Peter looked through the glass window into Anna's room. The young doctor was on life support. The bullet tore through her right lung, missing her heart by half an inch, before exiting her back. The doctors weren't sure if she was going to make it. They were amazed that she had survived as long as she did.<p>

Peter shook his head. "It doesn't make sense," he muttered.

"What doesn't?" Jones asked from beside him.

"Jack knew everything we were going to do before we did it," Peter went on. "How?"

Jones and Diana exchanged glances. Neither knew the answer.

"We don't know, Peter," Jones admitted at last.

Peter hesitated, studying the two agents, then nodded. "Alright...you two go home. It's getting late; you should get some sleep," he said at last.

"But Peter," Diana protested, shocked. "We can't. Now it's just Neal and Jack. Neal's alone with him; there is no one for him to divert his anger to. You know how challenging Neal can be. How can you expect us to just sit back and leave him there?"

"I'm not asking you to do that," Peter sighed. "Look, you guys have been pulling all-nighters with me six nights a week for the past month trying to find Neal. You can try to hide it, but I can tell you're exhausted. And you're no good to anyone if you're passing out from sleep deprivation on the job. I'll work with Samson while you're out, ok? In fact, take tomorrow off. I have to babysit my niece while Elizabeth and her sister go shopping, anyway, so I'll be working from home. Samson's a good agent, and he knows this case just as well as any of us. We will find Neal. But I promise, I'll make sure you're there when we take Jack down. So go home, get some rest, and I'll see you guys later, alright?"

Jones and Diana exchanged glances, hesitating. It was true, they had only gotten about forty hours of sleep over the course of the last month, and they knew that that wasn't healthy, but neither wanted to go home and rest. They wanted to go help their friends find Neal. At the same time, however, one look at Peter's face, and they knew that the situation wasn't up for debate. With weary sighs, the two agents agreed, and reluctantly headed for home.

Peter watched them go, then drew his phone from pocket, and, checking to make sure no nurses were around, called Agent Samson.

"Hey, Samson," Peter greeted his fellow agent. "Listen, I need your help on a lead in Neal's case. Can you meet me at my house around ten tomorrow morning?" There was a pause, then Peter smiled. "Great. See you then."

Peter hung up the phone and yawned, exhausted. After another moment, he trudged out the door and got in his car, getting ready for yet another all-nighter...

* * *

><p><em>The next morning...<em>

* * *

><p>Neal fiddled with his tie, trying to ignore the burning in his shoulder, surprised—and a little guilty—that he was actually excited to go to Spain. When his tie was presentable, the conman adjusted his collar and pulled on his jacket, wincing in pain and clenching his jaw. Just then, there was a knock on his door—Jack had gotten them set up in the home of a family who was away on vacation. They would never know they were there. Neal turned and saw his captor-turned-partner standing in the doorway.<p>

"Hey," Jack greeted him. "Ready to go?"

"All set," Neal smiled, grabbing his fake passport from the side table and tucking into his inside jacket pocket.

"Great, let's go," Jack nodded out the door, "we've got a plane to catch."

Neal chuckled slightly, for some reason not even realizing that he was going along with everything the killer before him was saying. He didn't think about how he got the bullet wound in his shoulder. He didn't even think about Anna. He was comfortable around his kidnapper, but he didn't find that strange. No, he was much too far gone for that. His brain was telling him how to survive, and he was following its instructions whether he wanted to or not...and deep down, some part of him knew he didn't. But he couldn't stop himself, for more reasons than one. So he followed Jack without protest and climbed into their stolen car, then sat back as their journey got underway...

* * *

><p>Across town, Agent Kyle Samson arrived at Peter's house at ten o'clock sharp, ringing the doorbell. A few moments later, Peter pulled the door open wide. He smiled when he saw his colleague standing before him.<p>

"Kyle," Peter greeted him. "Come on in."

"Thanks," Kyle nodded, making his way into the house.

"Sorry you had to come all this way," Peter sighed. "I have to watch my two-year-old niece today, so..."

"Oh, is she upstairs?" Kyle asked, glancing up the staircase in front of the door.

"Yeah," Peter confirmed. "But don't worry. She's asleep, and once she's asleep, for at least the next six hours, not even World War Three could wake her up."

Kyle laughed, then took a seat at the kitchen table. "So what's this lead you were talking about?"

"Well," Peter sighed, folding himself into the chair next to the other agent. "We know that Jack somehow had to know what we were going to do before we did it; he always managed to get away before we got there. So, what I'm thinking is...as terrible the idea is...is that Jack has to have someone in the FBI working with him. I've already talked to Hughes about it, and he gave me permission to launch a discreet investigation to find out who..." Peter finished his sentence and yawned widely.

"Ok...ah, Peter? Do you want some coffee before we get started?" Kyle offered.

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks," Peter nodded eagerly, handing him his already-emptied FBI mug. Kyle chuckled, then grabbed the mug and stood up, going over to the coffee pot and filling the mug. The young agent glanced over his shoulder to make sure Peter wasn't paying attention. When he was sure he wasn't, Kyle pulled a small vial of clear liquid out of his pocket and unscrewed the cap, pouring it into the steaming black coffee. Then he made his way back to the table and handed Peter his drink, watching as he took a sip...


	8. The Football Team

_**"I honestly can't tell you how much I love your story! Sometimes I get bored with long stories but I absolutely love yours! There is never a dull moment! You are the reason I read fanfics! :) update soon!" -Savannah Tarr  
>Omg, aww! Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it :D. And reviews like yours are the reason I keep writing fanfics 3. So sweet.<strong>_

**_Anyway...Hello again, everyone! This is probably the second-til-last chapter. Thank you so much for reading, and for all the reviews and words of encouragement. I can't wait to hear what you guys think of this one, and sorry last chapter was so short. I hope this one is a little more satisfying. Enjoy!  
>~Erika<em>**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Neal sat in the passenger seat of the car, staring out the window at the buildings he had come to know well, knowing he would miss it all when he was gone. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, almost in a trance...until one thought changed everything. Neal's eyes cleared, became sharper, his mind became normal once more, and he turned to Jack, his gaze accusing.

"How did you know?" The conman demanded. Jack looked at him strangely.

"Know what?" Jack didn't appear to know what Neal was talking about, but Neal wouldn't buy it.

"Oh don't give me that 'I don't know what you're talking about' crap!" Neal snapped. "How did you know when to leave so you wouldn't get caught? How did you know?"

Jack didn't answer. He didn't have to. Neal already knew what he would say.

There was a pause. "Stop the car," Neal ordered at last, his voice soft.

"What?" Jack looked at him like he was crazy. "No, Neal. We've got a plane to catch."

"Just stop the damn car!" Neal snapped. Jack hesitated, glanced at his partner, then found a spot on the curb and pulled over.

Neal turned and looked at him. "You have someone working on the inside, don't you?"

Jack didn't answer for a moment, and then he slowly smiled and laughed. "Finally!" he chuckled, "I thought we'd already be in Spain by the time you figured it out!"

"So it's true?" Neal let out a shuttering breath.

"Of course it is," Jack grinned. "I got another loyal partner in all this, Neal. Sorry if you thought you were the only one."

"Loyal partner..." Neal muttered, his eyes wide. "And...and if this loyal partner thinks that Peter is getting too close to figuring out his dirty little secret..."

"Oh, then Peter's gonna have to die," Jack told him, confirming his suspicions. "And my little prodigé won't have any trouble doing it. If I know him, it'll be poison. He's quite the chemist. Did you know he helped me lace that paper with a sedative? He did. He's come a long way..."

Neal stared at him in shock. "So he's going to kill him..." the consultant gasped, his mind beginning to wake up and the part of his brain that was only concerned with survival, the part that was responsible for his sitting in the car with the murderer before him, starting to be overpowered by the part that was loyal to Peter and the FBI.

"Yeah, probably," Jack nodded. "Why does this matter?"

"Why does this..." Neal stared at him, his eyes wide and incredulous. "Peter is my _friend_, Jack! I can't just let him die!"

"Yes you can!" Jack said urgently. "You're not his partner anymore, Neal. You're mine. And I didn't come this far to have you back out now. So please, _please_, just sit back, shut up, and when we get to the airport, get on the plane."

"Yeah, we're _supposed_ to be partners, and yet you're the only one who seems to have any say in what we do," Neal glared at the man in the driver's seat, suddenly starting to remember everything he hated about him, how he felt no sort of empathy or remorse. He was starting to snap out of it.

"Yeah, I'm the partner who calls the shots, and you're the one who listens," Jack smiled. "That's why we're such a good team."

"Yeah, well," In one quick motion, Neal reached forward, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out the gun he knew would be there, "_this_ partner saw you put the gun in the glove box, and I think it's about time _he _started making some calls himself."

Jack chuckled. "You won't shoot me, Neal," he said confidently. "You don't have the balls to pull the trigger."

"You really don't know me at all, do you?" Neal said with a bitter laugh, trying to ignore how wrong the gun felt as it rested in his hand. "If it'll help me save my friends, I will."

"Impressive," Jack said with a shrug. "But what are you going to do now, Neal?"

Neal hesitated. He honestly hadn't thought that far ahead.

"If I might make a suggestion," Jack spoke up, "I would run. As of the last time I talked to him, my buddy was on his way to meet your ex-partner. He's probably already there."

Neal's eyes widened, and he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

"It's a shame, really," Jack sighed. Neal paused. "You could have been great again. We could have been great together."

"It never would have worked," Neal said coolly, never letting his guard down. "I'm nothing like you."

With these parting words, Neal tucked the gun behind his back, opened the door, stepped out onto the street, and started towards Peter's house a few blocks away as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself.

Jack watched him go, and shook his head, pulling back out into traffic. "No...No you are not..."

* * *

><p>Peter sipped his coffee, convinced that it was the only thing making sure he didn't pass out right there on his laptop. He had found Jack's high school yearbook online and was going through it while Samson ran the bank records of every agent who had enough knowledge of Neal's case to send warnings to Jack.<p>

Peter turned to the next virtual page, glancing over the pictures and included articles...and nearly choked on his mouthful of coffee. Displayed on the screen was a picture of two boys, sweating, smiling at the camera, their expressions victorious, football helmets in one hand, a trophy held high up in the air between them in the other. The one on the left looked like a young Jack, and the one on the right...no. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. Hoping it would confirm that he was wrong, Peter read the caption.

_Juniors Jack Flyte (left) and Kyle Samson (right) bring home the state championship trophy in game against Paxton._

"It can't be..." Peter whispered. He looked up from the screen and saw Kyle standing by the stairs, leaning against the railing, smiling at him. "You? You're the reason Neal's trapped with this freak? The reason why Anna is on life support right now?"

"Yup," Kyle confirmed. "Took ya long enough to figure it out. You know, I think you've been hyped up a little too much. With what people say about you, I was expecting to be found out instantly."

Peter slowly stood up, his muscles tense, looking over at the coffee table where his gun should have been. The space was empty.

"Looking for this?" Peter returned his attention to Kyle and saw the traitor holding up a gun that Peter instinctively recognized as his own. "Yeah, nice try. I'm not that dumb."

"Why would you do this, Kyle?" Peter demanded, slowly walking over to him. His vision swam before his eyes, and, his heart racing, he steadied himself against the wall. When he looked back up at Kyle again, he saw that the man was laughing softly to himself.

"What did...what did you do to me...?" Peter gasped, his legs beginning to shake.

"Slipped a modified version of the sedative I dosed Neal with into your coffee," Kyle told him with a shrug. Peter blinked hard, trying desperately to bring his vision into focus. "You won't pass out, but it'll keep you out of it enough for me to take care of you and not worry about leaving too much evidence."

"Now as for your earlier question, why I did what I did," Kyle sighed, pacing the floor in front of the higher-ranking agent, Peter's gun resting in his hand. "Jack is my friend. Without him, I probably never would have survived high school. My freshman year, I was a complete dork. I got beat up every single day. I didn't have even one friend to rely on. Jack was one of the most popular guys in school. He may be a sociopath, but he sure knows how to put on a show. Nobody except his family and the ones in his inner circle knew how cruel he really was, and those who did didn't dare speak up about it.

"Anyway, one day, I'm running from the football team, again, and they catch up to me, again, and I started to get the crap kicked out of me. Again. Then, out of the blue, here comes Jack. He stood up for me. He protected me. He got me to join the football team. He saved my life. He's the one who encouraged me to be an FBI agent. Although, now that I think about that, I'm pretty sure that he had an agenda when he did that...

"But that doesn't matter," Kyle shrugged. Peter's legs couldn't support him anymore, and he collapsed against the wall, his breathing rapid and shallow, his heart racing, his eyes seeing double, the room spinning. "All that matters is I owe him. And I can't let you go ruin all his plans. So, sorry, Peter," the young agent shrugged, "but that means you have to die. It's a bummer for me, too, you know. I liked you. I thought you were a stand up guy. But I can't say no to Jack. I hope you understand that."

"No, not really," Peter panted. "Kyle, listen to me...Jack is a sociopath...he's not capable...of feeling any sort...of remorse or empathy."

"Look up the definition of a sociopath, Peter," Kyle snorted. "They can, but only with a couple people at most. I'm one of those people to Jack."

"Yeah. I bet he wouldn't have a problem throwing you to the wolves to save his own skin," sarcasm dripped from every word Peter spoke.

"Shut up, Peter!" Kyle snapped. "You don't know him like I do!"

"He shot his own baby sister," Peter gasped. "You think he gives a damn about you? He doesn't care about people, Kyle; he exploits them and then disposes of them when they cease to be useful!"

Kyle's jaw set, and rage burned in his eyes. "Enough talking," he growled. He raised Peter's own gun and aimed it at the agent's head. Then the young man smirked. "And you know...Jack's instructions were to make sure that there were no witnesses, so..." the agent backed up and picked up a photo from the mantle. The snapshot showed Peter's niece and sister-in-law, smiling and happy. "I guess that means your adorable little niece is gonna have to extend that nap of hers a little longer. Like, maybe indefinitely."

"No, wait, please!" Peter put up a shaky hand, his eyes wide with fear and worry, glancing up at the stairs. "Look, if you're going to kill me, fine, but...just leave Emma out of it...please..."

* * *

><p>Neal made it to Peter's house in just five minutes, panting, out of breath, but in no way ready to slow down. The conman crept up to the front window and peered inside. He saw Peter slumped against the column in the living room, looking dazed and confused. He was shocked to see Kyle Samson pacing in front of his friend, gun in hand. But there was no time for shock. The consultant looked around, then dashed around the side of the house, looking up. Luckily, there was an open window on the second floor. Now all he had to do was find a way up there...<p>

Neal spotted a ladder lying on the ground against the house next door. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and propped it against the window sill. Seconds later, the conman dropped silently into Peter's bedroom. He saw Peter's niece, Emma, asleep in the bed and crept forward, out into the hall. He pulled the gun from behind his back and noiselessly began to edge toward the stairs, ready to shoot if necessary. He could hear Jack and Peter arguing below.

"...niece is going to have to extend that nap of hers a little longer. Like, maybe indefinitely," Kyle's voice was just as cold as Jack's had been when he spoke.

"No, wait, please!" Neal could hear the terrified desperation to protect his family in his friend's voice. It made Neal cringe, feeling guilty that he had actually almost left him there to die. He shook it off as he began to slowly descend the stairs. Soon, he once again had Peter and Kyle in his line of sight. He was still hidden by shadow, but was extra careful from that point on to remain out of sight. "Look, if you're going to kill me, fine, but...just leave Emma out of it...please..."

"Sorry, Peter," Kyle shrugged. "The time for favors is over."

Neal watched as Peter closed his eyes, waiting for the shot. But there was no way in _hell_ Neal was going to let that happen. He went halfway down the stairs, until he had an unobstructed view of Kyle, and raised his own gun, ignoring the sharp protest from his injured shoulder.

"Samson," the consultant snapped shortly. Kyle jumped, startled, and whipped the gun in his hand around to aim it at Neal. Peter was utterly shocked to see his friend standing before him on the stairs.

"Neal," Kyle obviously hadn't been expecting this. "How...?"

"Jack and I had a...falling out," Neal explained vaguely as he continued down the stairs. When he reached the ground level, he moved to stand beside Peter, keeping the gun trained on Kyle. The consultant glanced down at his disoriented friend for a moment before returning his gaze to Kyle. "You ok, Peter?" he asked.

"Yeah..." Peter said breathlessly. "Neal...how...?"

"I'll explain everything later, I promise," Neal assured him.

"This isn't supposed to happen," Kyle growled, "You're supposed to be in Spain."

"Too bad," Neal shrugged, his face stony. "Guess that part of your plan didn't work out."

"Where's Jack?" Kyle asked frantically.

"Well, I wish I could say he was dead in a ditch somewhere, but I can't," Neal told him, sounding disappointed. "He's on his way to the airport."

"If you hurt him, Caffrey..." Kyle snarled.

Neal laughed out loud. "If _I_ hurt _him_?" he said in disbelief. "I was much more worried about him hurting me!"

"And you should be just as worried about who I'm going to shoot first," Kyle said, his voice a little calmer, turning to aim his gun at Peter again.

"Don't do it, Kyle," Neal warned, wrapping his finger around the trigger, ready to shoot.

"You won't do anything, Caffrey," Kyle sounded sure. "I know you don't like guns."

"Just because I don't like them, doesn't mean I don't know how to use them," Neal growled.

"I'm not going to prison, Neal," Kyle shook his head.

"Kyle," Neal warned.

"I'm sorry, Neal," Kyle said evenly. Before Neal could react, Kyle pulled the trigger. Hearing the shot, Neal reflexively retaliated, squeezing the trigger on his own weapon. Kyle went down, the bullet having lodged itself in the man's brain. He was dead instantly. Neal stared at the dead man in shock, almost not believing what he had done, then dropped the gun in his hands as if it were doused in acid. Snapping out of his trance, he turned his attention to Peter.

"Oh my God," Neal muttered. Peter had been hit in the lower left side of his abdomen. Blood was gushing from the wound at an alarming rate.

Neal quickly dropped to the ground beside his friend and laid him down flat on the floor, putting pressure on the bleeding injury.

"Hold on, Peter," Neal urged. "Just stay with me, ok?" The consultant reached into his friend's pocket and found his phone, quickly dialing 9-1-1. Seconds later, his call was answered.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"


	9. Loose Ends

**_This is it, guys. The last chapter. I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think!  
>~Erika<em>**

* * *

><p>When Peter opened his eyes, everything was blurry, and all the sounds sounded...distant. But soon, his senses corrected themselves, and he smiled when he saw his wife sitting by his side, smiling at him. It took him a moment to realize that she was stroking his hair and that there were tears in her eyes.<p>

"El..." Peter managed, his voice raw and scratchy.

"Hey, Hon," Elizabeth smiled, her gaze full of relief. "You had us scared for a minute, there."

"Sorry," Peter smiled back, taking her hand in his. "I always try not to do that...What happened...?"

"You were shot," his wife told him. "But you're going to be fine."

Slowly, Peter began to remember what happened. "I was babysitting Emma..." he muttered.

"Yeah," Elizabeth confirmed. "But don't worry, Honey...she's fine...she slept straight through everything..."

"Kyle...Kyle was the leak...he was...wait..." another memory penetrated the fog that had set up shop in his head, "Neal...Neal was there...Where is he?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, but someone in the doorway stopped her.

"Peter," both Burkes turned to see who had spoken. Neal stood in the doorway, his right arm in a sling, blood still staining the cuffs of his shirt, although his hands were clean.

"Thank God," Neal continued, looking relieved as he made his way to his friend's side. "How're you feeling?"

"Good," Peter replied. "You know, considering.

Neal nodded in understanding. There was a pause.

"El, can I talk to Neal for a second?" Peter asked.

"Sure, Honey," Elizabeth agreed. She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the lips, then stood up and left the room, casting a smile at Neal as she passed.

When Elizabeth had left, Neal went and sat down in her now-empty chair.

"How're you doing?" Peter asked his friend.

"Ok, I guess," Neal sighed. "I'm alive, so...I can't complain too much..."

Peter smiled slightly, and chuckled until he felt a sharp pain in his side.

"Careful," Neal warned.

Peter looked at his friend. "What happened while you were gone, Neal?" he asked softly.

Neal sighed wearily and leaned back. "Where do I start?" he muttered, shaking his head.

"How about the last time we talked before you showed up at my house," Peter suggested.

"Alright, well...um..." Neal searched for the words to begin. Finally, he was able to organize his thoughts. "Let's see...After Jack shot me and hung up the phone, I started losing a lot of blood really fast. Jack got nervous, because apparently he didn't want me dead yet. I passed out shortly after that, so I only learned this next part later.

"Apparently, Anna had just gotten home when she heard the gunshot. She was scared, so she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and went upstairs to see what happened. When Jack saw her, he decided to use her to save me. He didn't really have to force her much, as far as treating me went. Anyway, she got me stable enough to move, and then Jack took us to that factory. Anna told Jack that she needed to get a surgeon, and eventually, Jack let her try...and then came Justin.

"So, Justin fixed me up, and then Anna convinced Jack to let her go to the hospital for her shift. She had hoped he would let Justin go, too, but it ended up being only her. When she came back, Jack got a call, and then he made Anna and Justin take me out to the car. I was still pretty weak. I couldn't stand on my own, I could barely walk...I was really slowing them down...which is probably why Anna didn't run, too...even though she should have...

"So, anyway, Anna told Justin to run, and then she started getting me into the back seat of the car. Then Jack came out. When he saw that Justin was gone...he was furious. He took us to the apartment building and kept us holed up in a bedroom for...God, I don't even know how long...it felt like months...I was going crazy...you know I don't do well in cages under _normal_ circumstances, but this...this was torture. Then, all of the sudden, Jack apparently decided that it was time to take me outside for a little...fresh air. I'm sorry, Peter. Believe me, I didn't want to rob that house. But trust me when I say I had no choice. But, uh...if we're being completely honest, here...I, um..."

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" Peter guessed.

Neal looked down, his gaze guilty. "I really, really did..." he admitted. "I couldn't help it...I really hate to admit it, but it's true. I told you before, Peter, what I do—_did—_it's an addiction. And what Jack made me do...it was like what would happen if you locked an alcoholic in a liquor store. Jack knew that, and that's why he did it. At least I had enough sense left in me to leave you that note. Thanks for not giving up on me, by the way.

"Anyway, later, when he brought me back to the apartment, he asked me if I had fun. I tried to deny it, but we both knew it was no use. He locked us up again, and then a couple hours later, he came back and said that we had to go. I left the room first. When Anna tried to leave, Jack blocked her path. Then just...out of nowhere...he just shot her...I tried to go to her. I tried to help her, but...Jack wouldn't let me through...he just left her there to die..." Neal trailed off, realizing something that made him cringe visibly. "I just left her there to die..."

"That wasn't your fault, Neal," Peter said firmly. "And you didn't leave her there to die, because she's not dead."

"What?" Neal's eyes were wide with shock. "You mean...she's alive...? How?"

"My only explanation is she must be stubborn as hell," Peter said honestly. "She's on life support, but the doctors didn't expect her to be alive at all."

Neal let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God," he muttered.

Peter smiled slightly. "So what happened next?" he pressed.

"Um...Jack pulled me out to the car. We took off," Neal continued, "then a few blocks later, we ditched the car and started walking. We saw this businessman get out of his car...Jack told me to grab his keys. I wanted to tell him no, but we were so close, and...it was a reflex..." Neal's words were full of guilt. He couldn't meet Peter's eyes. He cleared his throat and continued on, his level of shame increasing with every word.

"Anyway...we got in the car...and somewhere along the way...Jack pitched this plan to me. We were going to go to Spain and start working together as partners. He had passports for us and everything. I honestly don't know what happened, Peter...I don't know what made me do it, but...I agreed...I'm so sorry, Peter...it was so weird; it honestly didn't even feel like I was agreeing to anything...it's hard to describe. Anyway, this morning, we were headed to the airport, and...I don't know...It was like a fog lifted off my mind and I realized that something—besides the obvious—was wrong. He always knew to leave before you could get to him. I put the pieces together...and I snapped out of it. I made Jack pull over. He didn't try to deny it. He wanted to leave you there to die. He legitimately did not understand when I told him that I wouldn't let that happen. I saw him put his gun in the glove compartment, so...I took it, and I made him let me go...I ran to your house...I saw Kyle in there, I saw you on the floor...I grabbed the neighbor's ladder and climbed through your bedroom window."

"I am going to ignore how incredibly creepy that sounds," Peter commented with a sigh, causing Neal to laugh.

"Yeah, I guess it does sound a little weird," Neal admitted. "But...I guess you know the rest..."

Peter nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "I do. You saved my life."

Neal raised his eyes to look at his friend in shock. "Wait...You mean...you're not mad?" Neal was almost afraid to ask.

"Neal, you almost ran, but you didn't," Peter pointed out. "You came back and saved me. And when you agreed to go, you were doing what you had to to survive. How can I be mad at you for that?"

Neal gave a little half-smile. "Thanks, Peter," he said sincerely. He lowered his eyes to the ground, his expression conflicted.

"Neal?" Peter's tone was concerned. "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Neal didn't reply. "I killed someone today, Peter," he said softly.

"Neal, it wasn't your fault," Peter said sternly.

"I know," Neal nodded, surprising the agent. "I know I didn't have a choice. I know that Kyle didn't leave me a choice. But I just...I need to know how long it's going to be."

"Until what?" Peter asked, studying his friend.

"Until..." Neal trailed off, trying to form a thought that made sense. "Until I can stop. Until I can stop hearing the gunshots in my head over and over; until I can stop seeing Kyle lying on the floor with his eyes still open, staring at me, whenever I close my eyes; until I can stop reliving that moment in my head over and over and over again...how long is it going to be until I can just stop?"

Peter looked at Neal sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Neal," he said softly. "But I can't answer that."

Neal nodded in understanding, then sighed. "Well, I haven't eaten in..." he trailed off, thinking, then shook his head. "I don't know, a couple days? So I'm gonna go get something from the cafeteria. I'll tell Elizabeth to come back in." Neal stood up, but paused before leaving. He smiled down at his friend. "I'm glad you're gonna be ok, Peter," he said sincerely.

"You too, Neal," Peter grinned.

Neal hesitated for just a moment before turning and leaving, giving a quick nod to Elizabeth, who was waiting by the door. Then he started down the hall. Instead of going to the cafeteria, however, he ducked into the bathroom and made his way over to the sink. The conman studied his reflection in the mirror. He looked like crap. His eyes had dark circles under them from the endless nights with no sleep, too scared to shut his eyes. The eyes themselves were dull and tired. His skin was pale and thin. With a weary sigh, Neal reached out and turned on the faucet, sticking his good hand under the water and leaning forward to splash the water onto his face while his right arm remained useless in his sling.

Neal heard the door behind him open, and glanced in the mirror to see who had come. He wasn't paying too much attention, and looked away after only half a heartbeat. But after he splashed another handful of water onto his face, he realized something that made him stop and do a double take. By then, it was too late. Jack stood behind him, and he had a piece of wire in his hand. Before Neal could react, Jack wrapped the wire around the conman's neck and pulled back with all his strength, cutting off the consultant's air supply. Neal's eyes widened, and both hands flew to his neck, trying to pry the wire off his throat. He didn't even feel his shoulder wound; at that moment, the most severe pain was coming from his neck.

Neal clawed at the wire, trying to get a finger or two under it to give himself a fighting chance, only vaguely aware that he was starting to draw blood.

"Sorry about this, Neal," Jack didn't sound the least bit sorry. "But you know how I feel about loose ends. I hate them."

Neal couldn't respond. His breath, what little he could manage to get, came in sort, ragged, high-pitched gasps. He could feel blood running down his hands, but whether it was from the gashes he was creating in his neck with his nails, the wire digging into his neck, or his fingertips as they wrestled with the wire, he couldn't tell. His vision began to go dark. His desperate attempts to pry the wire from his neck became weaker. His body began to go numb. The last thing he heard before he went limp was the bathroom door opening...

* * *

><p>Jones pushed open the bathroom door, looking for the consultant who, contrary to what he had said to Peter, was not in the cafeteria. "Hey, Neal, are you..." the agent saw Neal, completely limp, near the sink. The only thing that was supporting him was Jack and the wire he had wrapped around Neal's neck. Jones didn't hesitate; he drew his gun from its holster, taking aim and only barely restraining himself from firing before he identified himself. "FBI! Let him go!"<p>

"Too late, Jones," Jack smiled. He did as he was told; he released the wire he had around Neal's neck with one hand, and Neal collapsed to the floor with a thud, not moving a muscle. Then the murderer began to reach behind his back. "I win."

"Don't do it!" Jones warned. "Keep your hands where I can see them!"

Jack didn't listen. He kept reaching. Jones didn't have a choice. He squeezed the trigger. It was a perfect shot; the bullet pierced Jack's heart and nestled in his spine, killing him instantly. Jones lowered his gun and walked over to Jack's body, kicking the wire in his hand away before checking his pulse. When he was sure he was dead, he holstered his gun and turned his attention to Neal. His friend's neck had a thin line of bright red blood stretching from ear to ear, accented with jagged gashes above the wire line where Neal had clawed desperately at the device. His fingertips were scraped raw by the rough wire. He wasn't breathing.

"Neal!" Jones said urgently, rolling his friend flat on his back. "Neal, can you hear me?"

Neal didn't respond. Water droplets sparkled on his face in the fluorescent light. One droplet rolled down the side of his face like a tear. His eyes were closed. His body was still. Jones frantically felt for a pulse, but found none.

"No, no, no, Neal, don't do this," Jones urged. He began CPR, desperately trying to bring his friend back from wherever he had gone. "Stay with me, Neal, come on!"

For what felt like hours, Neal didn't respond. Jones was starting to think that it might be time to give up. Just as he was about to let it go, Neal's eyes bolted open wide, and he gulped down a big breath of air before turning onto his hands and knees and seeming to attempt to cough up one of his own lungs.

Jones smiled slightly and patted his friend on the back. "Welcome back, Neal," he said with a sigh.

Neal didn't respond. He was still too weak, and his voice wouldn't work anyway. He could barely believe he was still alive. As he looked at Jack's body and got his breathing back under control, he thought back to the events that had brought the two of them there. He thought about the letter, about the last line Jack had written there. It was then that he realized something.

Curiosity had, very nearly, killed the cat.

But, it would appear that cat's also had nine lives.

Neal smiled to himself. _I've got seven left. Better make them count._

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back." ~Eugine O'Neill<em>**


End file.
